


Just Another Valentine's Day

by Slantedlight (BySlantedlight)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 11:39:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9722972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BySlantedlight/pseuds/Slantedlight
Summary: The lads are at work in February...





	

They warred in words, brief skirmishes that barely recognised themselves as such, spat out across the room as requests for tea, or equipment, or vague reminiscences about the past. Day turned to night turned to day again, and neither of them knew what they were fighting for, though the battles were tired and worn. Bodie tried again and again to say something that brought them back together, but nothing worked, weeks and months tangled into a knot inside his head, so that picking at it just pulled it tighter.

"You're getting better at that," he said, breaking an hour's silence as the second day dragged itself to a wet, grey close and the farmhouse down the hill stubbornly showed no signs of movement. Ray, at least, was a warm, comfortable presence by his side, so that he felt strangely content despite their occasional sally towards a certain doom, despite the fact that they were on a miserable stakeout in the middle of nowhere.

Doyle cocked his head slightly to one side, and turned the piece of wood he'd been whittling over in his hand. "'ad enough practice lately," he said gloomily, squinting to make a tiny adjustment with his penknife. "If the Cow's not careful I'll ditch CI5 and take it up as a career." 

"We could move in here," Bodie suggested, "Stick you in the roof, call it your artist's garret." And he surprised himself by liking the idea for a moment, before he decided that he was just tired, fed up with being cooped up all day.

"While you turn old and grey waiting for Steadman to make a move? Still if we put in a cooker and sink by the window you could keep us in hot dinners at the same time." 

Bodie smiled at that, raised an eyebrow. _Yes - come on, Doyle_. "Want me barefoot as well, do you?" 

"Yeah," Doyle caught his eye. "I'll pop down now and then, try to get you pregnant." 

"Oh, thanks very much!" He looked reluctantly back out the window, rolling his shoulders to ease the kinks, knowing that Doyle was watching with appreciation. "We're losing the light - come and 'ave a go now, before Sam gets back." Doyle wanted to, he _knew_ Doyle wanted to, date with Denise or not. One last time, the night before the final battle.

"Have a go at what before Sam gets back?" Sam asked from the doorway, and Bodie jumped and cursed. Doyle's smile widened, a white flash in the dim room - bastard must have heard him coming and said nothing. 

"Practising how to make the tea - it's 'is turn."

"It's Sam's turn," Doyle rejoined, flicking another wood shaving across the room from his knife. 

"It's always Sam's turn when you two are around," Sam said, but he crouched down beside the camp stove and started pulling out teabags. 

"How're they doing in the buggy-boo?" At least they hadn't been sitting in _that_ for the last forty eight hours, Bodie thought. Even with Sam playing general gooseberry life could be a lot worse. "Anything useful from Benny yet?"

"Dunno - they're playing it close to their chests with 'im. Thought they'd sussed him earlier, but he pulled a blinder about doing porridge with Jez Ables and they backed off."

"Ables from Croyden Road?" Doyle looked up, frowning, "Bit risky, wannit?"

Sam shrugged. "They backed off - their lot don't like his lot."

"That's like saying Cowley doesn't like lemonade in his scotch..." Doyle had lowered his carving, forgotten his knife, was looking into the distance, biting his lip. "Are you sure they didn't rumble him?"

"Sure as we can be. They didn't react, just sent him off for his turn on watch and started talking about that Sweeney rubbish on the box tonight."

Doyle shook his head and stood up, moved restlessly to the window and stood beside Bodie, peering out into the grim evening. "I don't like it..."

A light had finally come on in the farmhouse, brilliant yellow geometry against the encroaching night, and a shadow moved back and forth across it - the kitchen, Bodie knew, one of them cooking perhaps. Doyle gestured for the binoculars, and Bodie passed them to him, watched as he panned the lenses from one side of the building to another.

"I don't like it," Doyle said again, "It's too quiet."

"They've been quiet the last two days," Sam protested, and Bodie felt Doyle tense.

"They didn't have Benny with them to take it out on until this morning." Doyle dropped the glasses from his eyes. "I'm going to take a look."

"Why?" Bodie asked, knowing that Doyle wouldn't put their last week's work at risk for no good reason.

"Benny wouldn't have used Jez Ables as cover unless he really had to - he's telling Steadman that he's been with the enemy, that Ables might have some hold over him. Which means that part of his cover wasn't watertight, and Ables was the best he could do, and that's not like Benny."

"Something's wrong."

"Something's wrong." Doyle nodded, checking his holster and picking up his R/T. "Keep the kettle hot..." He slid out the door, and Bodie heard footsteps going downstairs, then nothing. He watched from the window for the movement of shadows, but there was still nothing - Doyle'd gone around the side of the building, where there was most cover.

"If the Cow hears about this - " Sam started, and Bodie shook his head at him.

"If Doyle thinks there's trouble, there's trouble." He squinted harder through the binoculars and into the darkness, and hoped that he was wrong. Tomorrow was Valentine's Day, and if anyone was going to kill Doyle it'd be him.

o0o

The day had slumped all the way to night by the time Doyle paused at the bottom of the stairs, mind racing to decide his best approach. If Steadman's lot had taken Benny's cover story the wrong way... Lewis and Jax in the buggy-boo would only make a move if they heard something definite - and by then it might be too late. He needed to get close enough to be sure everything was alright - that Benny really was on watch, that they'd end this op on time tomorrow morning and he'd be home and free in time to take Denise out tomorrow night, to wine her and dine her in style. 

It was raining lightly, had been all day, and he pulled the collar of his jacket a little higher, as he stepped into it, shivered. Bloody job, _always_ in the way of things. But he wouldn't give it up, he knew he wouldn't, not when it did some good. What was anything else, compared to that?

Maybe he should cancel the date with Denise now, while she still had time to find someone else. It wasn't as if it had been his idea in the first place. And there was Bodie... He could get them to call from the buggy-boo when it was his turn to check in. Maybe.

The ground was wet beneath his trainers, sinking slightly with each step, turned to mud where the grass had already been worn away, and he put out a hand to steady himself on the side of the building, pausing to listen as he did so. There was a telly on somewhere in the house - front lounge probably, the room where the bug was, the room they couldn't see from their own hidey hole - and the occasional bark of laughter. That's it, if they'd just stay where they were, nice and relaxed, waiting for their delivery tomorrow morning...

But even as he watched a shadow detached itself from the house, started a slow but steady march in his direction. Shit. He flattened himself against the side of the building, lost himself in its darkness. Was it Benny on watch, or was it..?

There was a whiff of wet denim as the figure passed him, and faded _Old Spice_ , and Benny's distinctive profile.

" _Psst_!"

The figure jumped and spun around, and Doyle stepped just far enough out that Benny could see who it was.

"Doyle! What the fuck are you doing out here?"

"Everything alright inside?"

"'course it is - what's wrong?"

"Hear you've been spending time with Jez Ables."

Benny sighed. "Yeah. You remember Melanie White?"

"Went off to Mallorca with her new bloke, forgot to pay Sid Allen what she owed him?"

"Nah," Benny shook his head, "Forgot to pay Sid Allen what she owed him, ended up fish food."

"Yeah?" Doyle winced. Melanie had been a sweet enough girl, for all she ran with a bad crowd - a tendency to try and tell you what she thought you wanted to hear, but... And she'd also been a big part of Benny's cover story - even her mum was convinced Melanie was alive and finally having a grand old time in the sunshine.

"How did Steadman take it?"

Benny shrugged. "Philosophically. He's got bigger fish to fry."

"Still frying tomorrow morning?"

"As far as I know. Look, I'd better get on."

"Right." Doyle nodded, reached out and clapped him on the shoulder. "Take it easy."

"Yeah. Ciao."

That was alright then, he'd been worrying over nothing, taking what distraction he could maybe, from Bodie sitting there beside him... Benny was a good man, knew what he was doing, and if he said Steadman was unfazed, then...

"Well, well, well. Two for the price of one."

_Shit._

o0o

The shot, when it came, sent Bodie straight for the stairs, gun in one hand, R/T in the other. He took the steps two, three at a time, his own speed the only thing that kept him from falling down them, emerged into the damp night as an engine roared to life somewhere behind the farmhouse. In the distance he heard another vehicle hurtling in their direction - the buggy-boo no doubt, abandoning its telephone repair tent by the road, ready to disgorge its own agents.

He was too far away, _couldn't run any faster, couldn't get there in time_... There was shouting from the house, but he couldn't make out Doyle's voice, or Benny's. _There'd only been one bullet_. 

It would be alright, there'd only been one bullet.

He slid on wet grass at the corner of the building, slammed into the old stonework with a thud that he barely felt, paused only long enough for a single breath and then rounded the side of the wall, gun first, ready to fire at anything that wasn't Doyle.

The world was a chaos of sudden electricity from the light over the front door, flooding the scene yellow where it pooled, deepening the shadows at its edges. A pale blue van stood wide open, its engine revving, and as Bodie watched a long dark shape ending in white trainers was being bundled into the back.

" _Hold it_!"

The man holding Doyle's feet spun around, brandishing a gun of his own. " _You_ hold it, or I'll blow 'is brains out!"

Johnson, Bodie thought, young, untried - liable to panic. Cursing inside he lowered his arms, holding his gun loosely, fingers widespread. "There's no need to do anything stupid..." he started, but even as he wondered where the others were another man came barrelling out of the house with a hold-all, threw it into the passenger seat of the van and climbed in after. Johnson swung himself up into the back, took careless aim at Bodie and fired. The bullet flew wide, but it was too late, the van was away down the road, swerving to avoid the buggy-boo as it lurched clumsily towards it, somehow managing to send it crashing down into the ditch, making its escape into the night.

"3.7 to Alpha!" he shouted in the general direction of his R/T, pressing the button and pelting up to the buggy-boo. It was irretrievable without a tow, but then it had never been meant for a chase vehicle, set even more off balance by the equipment in back.

"Alpha here..."

Bodie pulled open a door, reached in to where Jax was stirring in the passenger seat, realised belatedly that Lewis was already clambering out. "4.5 and 8.9 have been taken, and we need an ambulance here - one vehicle out of commission!"

"What?" Cowley's voice was thick with static, "What's happened?"

Another engine roared from the lane that led up the hill to their own hideout, there was a flash of lights, and Doyle's Capri slid to a stop beside him. For a moment Bodie's heart leapt in hope, but it was Sam at the wheel. He gave Jax a reassuring tap on his arm, and threw himself into the passenger seat. "Go!"

"In pursuit of a pale blue Bedford van," he said into the R/T, grabbing for the handle on the door as Sam turned left onto the main road while still in third. The Capri slewed, snaked, but straightened itself, and they were off again, after tail lights that glowed only faintly in the distance in front of them. _The van_ , he hoped, it had to be the van, rather than some local vehicle speeding down familiar roads. "We think Benny's cover may have been blown - Doyle went down to check it out, and there was a shot..."

"What the devil happened, man?"

"I don't know, sir, I wasn't with him at the time. We didn't have enough men!"

"You had ample men for the case as planned, Bodie! What about the delivery?"

"I rather suspect that will be cancelled, _sir_ ," he managed through clenched teeth, "And they've got Doyle and Benny with them..."

"Aye, I'm sending a squad to intercept - you're still on the B-road from Brinkley?"

"Yes sir. Looks like they're heading for the motorway."

"Keep me informed, 3.7 - and no unnecessary heroics, I'd like those idiots back without further expense to the department!"

It was all Bodie could do not to throw the R/T through the window, he settled for rounding on Sam instead. "What kept you? Making up sandwiches for the trip?"

"Doyle had the keys."

Oh. "And it took you that long to hot wire the ignition?"

"It is them," Sam said calmly, nodding ahead of them to where the tail lights had blossomed into a pale, square shape in their own high beams. "And it took about fifteen seconds to hot wire the ignition, I spent the rest of the time trying to get the bloody thing to start without flooding the engine. Doyle wants to have his battery looked at."

Bodie took a breath. "Right." Another one. "Sorry."

Red tail lights flashed at them as the van slowed to take a corner in the road, and Bodie tried to remember what was ahead of them. Open space, mostly, though coming up fast on some ridiculously quaint village. If they forced the van off the road they risked injuring Doyle and Benny as much as Steadman's lot, the same if he managed to take out one of the tyres. On the other hand, if they followed them all the way to their final destination, they risked losing them altogether, and their hostages as well once they were off and no longer needed them for security. But back up was on its way, there was a chance that they could be persuaded to surrender if they found themselves surrounded...

Bodie shook his head, refused to think about it. There was no chance of that, not from the moment they'd taken the CI5 agents. 

Someone was going to get hurt.

The van disappeared around a corner, and there was a sudden blaring of horns - no sound of a crash, not yet, it had avoided the oncoming vehicle, but...

Sam tried to slow down as he took the corner, hit the brakes and shoved desperately into third, but it was too late, they were sliding, and then they were on the other side of the road, and...

o0o

Doyle woke to a tearing pain in his right thigh, and a throbbing dizziness in his head. He winced and opened his eyes, gazing around desperately for a moment and starting in panic when the world remained pitch black. He couldn't see. His breath caught, and he scrubbed at his eyes, opening them and straining again for the least sliver of light, for anything, there should be something, there should be, he was in...

He was in the cellar.

He remembered being herded inside with Benny, remembered Steadman taking his gun, knocking Benny to the ground and kicking him, over and over... He remembered Steadman dragging Benny off, and at the last minute, as he reached the door, turning and almost casually raising Doyle's own weapon and firing. 

That was almost the last thing he remembered, the pain in his leg, but then there was a vague blur of stumbling against the wall, of being grabbed and dragged, and thrust through a door, of tripping on concrete-hard steps, and then falling, falling...

And now.

He took a deep, slow breath, wanting the pain to stop, wanting the dizziness and his racing thoughts to go away. He wanted to be in bed, tucked under blankets and quilts, soft pillows for his head, and warm. He wanted...

Bodie.

Bodie would find him, and until he did Doyle could at least drag himself up the stairs and put the light on. 

He just had to sort himself out first. 

Right.

Another deep breath, this time to stave off the burning in his leg that threatened to unman him as he pushed himself to sit up, the spinning in his head. And something else... Despite himself he cried out when he tried to move his left leg, his ankle dragging and screaming at him. Broken? Or just twisted? 

Either way, he thought, gasping for oxygen, it wasn't going to be fun trying to get up those stairs. But Bodie would be here soon, and he had to try, had to make the effort. 

Bodie would be here soon.

o0o

The world spun around Bodie as the Capri spun, and then Sam had righted them again - must recommend him for Niki Lauda's team, Bodie thought - and they were proceeding almost genteelly down the road. The car they had just avoided by being on the wrong side of the road themselves continued on its merry way with a further blaring of its horn, and he didn't know whether to laugh or shout.

"This is getting silly," Sam said, perhaps not quite as unaffected as he looked.

"You're doing a great job," Bodie reassured him absently, watching the van in front of them. It had started to lurch slightly from side to side, then it swerved, and...

"Watch out!" he shouted, bracing himself against the dashboard, as it braked to an almost dead stop, skidding towards the edge of the road itself, but Sam had already started to pull up, had brought them to a spectacular halt at a perfect ninety degrees to the other vehicle.

Bodie threw himself out of the car, had shot Jones even as he emerged from the front of the van and, leaving Steadman to Sam, yanked open the back doors. 

Benny had young Johnson in a headlock, and was holding a gun to Steadman's head.

Otherwise the van was empty.

It couldn't be...

"Where's Doyle?"

Benny looked around as Sam relieved him of Steadman's charge, yanking the hapless Johnson around with him. "Doyle?"

Bodie didn't say anything - he couldn't, he didn't need to.

"He's not here... I dunno what... "

Bodie climbed into the van, dragged Johnson from Benny's grip, and slammed him against the side of the vehicle while he reached for his handcuffs. Then he turned him around, and slammed him back again.

"Where. Is. Doyle."

Johnson just stared at him, eyes wide in the dim light. "How the fuck should I know?" he asked, all shaking bravado.

Bodie reached for the collar of his jacket, drew the man close to him, and then shoved him hard once more, so that the metal rang with the impact of Johnson's head, so that the whole vehicle shuddered.

"Bodie..."

"Where the fuck is he?" Bodie demanded again, resolutely not listening to Benny, stretching out his hand, pleased when Johnson winced away from him.

"I don't know, I don't know! Back at the house, I don't know..."

There was nowhere else he could be. 

Rage fading from red to cold, burning white, Bodie turned away and sprinted back to the Capri. Sam had left the engine running, and Bodie reversed and turned the car around before his door had even swung shut, was roaring back down the road.

Corners, he had to watch the corners, it wouldn't do either of them any good if he smashed himself up now.

Doyle was dead, there'd been a single bullet fired, and Benny was alive.

They hadn't bothered to take Doyle.

Doyle was dead.

Stupid bastard.

Where was Cowley and his intercept squad? They should have been here, should have...

A single bullet.

o0o

By dangling his left leg over the side of the stairs as he dragged himself up, like a child sitting on one step at a time, Doyle managed to avoid the most jarring pain from his ankle. He'd torn his shirt for bandages, one for his foot and one for his thigh - though that seemed to be no more than a long, middling-deep crease, it was still oozing blood - and probed carefully around the bump on his head, which had also bled. For now that was the best he could manage for first aid. He'd tried his R/T, which they'd left him, but either there was no signal down here, or it had been broken when he fell. Both, maybe. He had chewing gum in his pocket, and he treated himself to a piece at the top of the stairs, fortification for the next part of the op. He needed to stand up in order to reach the light switch.

If there was a light switch there.

He'd tried the door handle and found it locked - they weren't taking any chances, for all they presumably expected him to die down here. They'd taken Benny alive though - as a hostage maybe, if they realised who it was had sussed them, so at least he was probably safe enough for a while. And the lads in the buggy-boo would have heard the commotion, the gun shot if not the details through the bug Benny had managed to plant. And Bodie, Bodie would have heard the shot, he'd be here soon. Where the hell was he?

He was cold without his shirt, for all he had a t-shirt still and his good leather jacket, and he had no idea how long he'd been down here. Not long, he thought, or surely he would have been colder by now. There was a draught blowing under the door though, practically whistling its way in - had someone left the house open? What did that mean?

His head hurt.

He needed to find the light switch before he did anything else - maybe there was a window down here that would alert them to where he was. Or maybe he'd be able to pick the lock on the door - he had his knife on him still, a solid presence in his back pocket where he'd shoved it along with the spoon he'd been whittling.

When Bodie came, maybe he'd tell him about the spoon. Explain about Denise. He'd have to cancel on her now, without even having to make something up. He wouldn't be very romantic company with bandages around both legs, and a splitting headache, would he? Not even for Bodie, though Bodie at least was used to it.

Right. He had enough solid flesh left to make up one good leg, and surely that was all he needed. The wall by the door had been left uncovered, so he could use the exposed two-by-fours to help pull himself up. Easy. He'd been in worse situations, after all, and they hadn't bothered to tie up the dead man.

Yeah, he'd ditch Denise and spend the night with Bodie instead, whether Bodie liked it or not. Cover was cover, but sometimes...

The two-by-fours were raw, and he felt splinters sliding into his skin as he tried to brace himself strongly enough that he could get his good foot under him. He was shivering a bit now, and more light-headed that he wanted to be. Was his leg still bleeding?

...sometimes he wished Bodie would spend a whole night, wouldn't make him feel that he should get up and leave before morning, wanted...

He managed to get one leg straight under him, finally, not wanting to chance the ankle in case it sent him toppling over the side of the stairs again. _Hold tight to the two-by-fours, turn yourself around, try the door again_... Hadn't been mistaken, it still didn't open. It rattled, but there was silence outside, no one there.

Like Bodie sometimes, no one there. No, that wasn't fair, Bodie was just... careful. They were both careful. Had to be, for the sake of a bit of fun. Bit of a lark...

He felt the splinters when he straightened his hand, insinuating their way further into his skin, a dozen tiny needles. His sister had told him once that if you got a splinter and you didn't get it out, it'd work its way all the way to your heart and kill you stone dead. He didn't think that was true.

He'd tell Denise... No, he'd tell _Bodie_... When Bodie got here.

Door handle - door jamb - wall - wire - _there_! Light switch.

The room was flooded with bright, golden light - _like a day at the beach, like a summer's afternoon, like the morning sun in Bodie's flat_ \- and Doyle squeezed his eyes shut against it, too harsh, too bright, too much all at once... 

He turned it off again. 

On again. Don't fall over. Open your eyes, just a little...

Holding tight to the wall he turned slowly around, squinted at the room.

He was at the top of a concrete staircase, no bannister between it and the rest of the room, looking down on a bare concrete floor. In one corner was a grubby mattress - had they held people down here before, then? - and in another corner a deep rust stain which he didn't want to think about. High on one wall there was a small window, way out of reach with nothing to stand on.

Bodie would come. He flicked the light switch in a desultory SOS for a few minutes, head leaning against the wall, until he realised his breath was coming in short pants, and he was feeling dizzy again, so dizzy... Better sit down.

He left the light on, slid down the wall. All that effort, and... But he had the light. Had to stay awake though, had to stay awake so that when Bodie came he could shout, let him know where he was... He was tired... He reached into his back pocket, pulled out the spoon he'd been carving, and his knife, and tried to focus.

o0o

The ambulance was just pulling out of the gate by the time Bodie reached the farmhouse again, no sirens, no urgency... He skewed to a halt in front of it, much to the amazement of its driver, who wound down the window to shout at him.

"Who've you got in there?" Bodie asked, ignoring everything, pulling out his gun and his ID in that order, so that the man at first withdrew, then leaned back again. _He was wasting time_. "Who did you pick up?"

"A couple of your boys - van in the ditch - they're okay, but we're taking them in for a bit of a warm up."

"Lewis and Jax?"

"That's right..."

"No one else?"

"No one else around, mate..."

 _He was wasting time_... He pulled the Capri back far enough for the ambulance to set off on its sedate way, took off too fast on the mud, so that the tyres spent even more of his precious seconds trying to grip the road. 

They hadn't had enough _time_ yet...

The door to the farmhouse was wide open, the floor slick with the rain that had been blown in. There was no one here, as the ambulance driver had said, the place was in darkness, and cold.

Except for a thin slice of light from a door to the left of the hallway.

"Doyle?"

 _Answer me_...

"Doyle!"

Nothing... 

The door refused to open, and Bodie had pulled back ready to break it down before realising that the key had been left in place. He turned it, smooth in it's big old-fashioned lock, and pulled the door wide, squinting a little into the pale light.

Doyle was slumped at the top of the stairs, covered in blood, and he wasn't moving.

 _No_...

"Ray?" He thought that maybe his heart had stopped, that maybe this was what it was like to have a heart attack, not being able to breathe, not being able to do anything except _fear_ and freeze and...

"Doyle!"

He moved, crouching down beside - not the body, beside Doyle, it was Ray, it _still_ was... Doyle's face was cold to his touch as he slid his fingers down to find the carotid pulse, that's what he had to do first, find the pulse that meant...

Doyle was still alive.

There was a pulse there, faint perhaps, but it was there. And there - the blood was from a wound on his thigh, and a knock on his head. Concussion then, and... shouldn't be sleeping...

"Ray?"

His R/T was still in his pocket, and he left Doyle for a moment to go back up into the farmhouse, to call the ambulance back, to turn on lights so that he could see properly, and to close the front door, leaving it on the latch.

Doyle groaned when he moved him, ready to lift him, and so he paused, knelt down and took his hand, squeezing it.

"Oi, Ray, you awake yet?"

Doyle groaned again, rolled his head. "Tell Bodie..."

And Bodie smiled then, though Doyle couldn't see him, maybe didn't even know that he was there yet.

"Tell Bodie what, mate?"

Doyle's eyes did open then, looked up at him, not quite focussed, and Doyle look a deep breath. "Bodie?"

"Here, mate. Come on, let's get you into the warm."

"Put the light on..."

What? The light was already on... "Alright, in a minute, let's..."

"Wait..." Doyle took another breath, blinked up at him. "Need to give you..."

"Give me what, mate? Give me anything you like in a minute, let's..."

"No. Give you... give you this..."

Doyle thrust something at him, a weak thrust, but a thrust just the same, and to keep him calm, to appease him, Bodie took it. That bloody stick he'd been whittling... Bodie shoved it into his pocket, took the knife from Doyle's other hand and put that in there too. "Come on mate, up you go..."

He wrapped Doyle's arm around his shoulder, braced them both, and managed to get Doyle to his feet, let him sway gently for a moment, getting his balance, keeping him awake until the ambulance got there. He'd take him into the front room, get the electric fire going, see what he could do to make him comfortable. There was a rough bandage around one ankle as well, above Doyle's trainer, and it looked swollen and tender. 

"Bodie, I'll tell you about the spoon..."

Concussion, definitely, but at least he was conscious, and talking, and if Doyle wanted to talk about cutlery then that was alright by him.

Together they staggered into the front room, Doyle a shivering but live weight against his side, and in Bodie's pocket nestled the spoon, carved on one side with a rifle, the other a handgun, entwined together with smoke and bullets, and love.

 

_February 2009_

**Author's Note:**

> My for the lj comm Discoveredinalj _Discovered in a Valentine_ challenge prompt was: _"In Wales wooden love spoons were carved and given as gifts on February 14th. Hearts, keys and keyholes were favourite decorations on the spoons. The decoration meant, 'You unlock my heart!'"_


End file.
